


Sidestory #2

by aguantare



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 04:46:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aguantare/pseuds/aguantare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are five of them this time, and warning bells go off in Louis’ head, because in the past it’s only ever been one or two. Parallels <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/572747/chapters/1033295">Chapter 5</a> of Waiting for the End.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sidestory #2

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: don't know them, don't own them, don't sue me

Niall answers the door, and even though Louis can’t see who it is, he doesn’t need to. The way Niall stiffens tells him all he needs to know. There are five of them this time, and warning bells go off in Louis’ head, because in the past it’s only ever been one or two. His mind goes into overdrive, trying to think of something, anything, any way that they can possibly get Zayn out. He has his phone in hand and he wonders if maybe a text to Liam, telling him to go for the window—

One of the agents comes to stand in front of him, towering over him, and Louis swallows empty. He looks sideways, sees Harry and Niall similarly frozen. The last agent in closes the front door, and it’s like a gunshot in the silence.

“Where is he?” the agent standing over Louis asks.

“Who?” Niall asks in reply. A blur, a painful crack, and Louis hits the floor hard, his face burning, ears ringing. A foot appears in his swimming vision and he flinches away, expecting another blow, but it doesn’t fall.

“Where is he?” one of the other agents asks, harsher.

“Don’t know,” Louis responds before any of the others can. He’s already on the ground, and maybe he can just provoke them into kicking him around a little, keep them from starting on Niall or Harry.

Keep them from investigating the panels lining the stairs.

“Fuck off,” he adds, bracing himself mentally for the pain. The agent standing over him grabs his arm, pulls him to his feet, and Louis stumbles upright just in time to see a nod pass between him and the other agents. Dread settles, cold and hard in the pit of his stomach.

With terrible synchronicity, two of the agents converge on Harry, one grabbing his arms, the other going for his legs. They wrestle him down, and Louis doesn’t know what’s going on, but he’s sure that whatever it is, he can’t let it happen. He tries to yank out of the tight grip on his arm, slips a little, and when he looks up, he sees Harry, arms pinned, but kicking out with one leg, connecting fairly solidly with an agent’s shin. The agent swears, manages to get Harry’s ankle in his grip, and then the fifth one, the one who isn’t actively restraining any of them, puts his foot on Harry’s other ankle, presses down until Harry winces.

The gun in the agent’s hand is dark, cold steel, and Louis wants to yell, cry, scream, do something, but he can’t, it’s like his throat has closed up.

“Last chance,” the agent says, “Where is he?”

Harry’s chest is heaving, his eyes fixed on the gun. Louis’ mind is racing as fast as his heart— _tellhimdon’ttellhimtellhimdon’ttellhim_ —

“Like he said.” Harry’s voice is shaking, trembling, nostrils flaring a little as he tries to breathe through the panic. “Fuck off.”

\-- _ohgodohgodohgodnonono_ —

For a split second after the gun goes off, Louis thinks it’s him that’s screaming. Then it’s like his brain starts working again and he sees the boots lift off Harry’s ankle, the hands releasing his wrists, and Harry is curling in on himself, making the most awful noises Louis has ever heard. Louis wrenches out of the iron grip on his own arm, goes to his knees next to Harry, and he half expects to hear another gunshot, feel the bullet rip into his back, but then Niall is there, and he registers footsteps, the front door opening and slamming shut. Harry’s crying sounds even worse in the resultant quiet, and Louis presses one hand to his shoulder to try and still him, presses the other to his cheek. There’s blood pooling on the floor underneath Harry’s right knee, but Louis can’t look at it, knows he’ll lose it if he does.

“Harry,” he says, breathless, trembling, “Harry, look at me.” Harry’s eyes are wild, unfocused, overflowing with tears, and Louis feels physically sick to his stomach.

“Lou.” Niall touches his arm and Louis looks over at him. He looks eerily calm, and Louis doesn’t understand it right then, that Niall knows this type of violence, if not from personal experience, then from cultural memory.

“I’m going to get the car,” he says, “We can take him to St. Mary’s. I’ve heard they won’t ask any questions.”

Louis nods numbly, watches him sprint out the front door, keys in hand. Harry’s quieter now, but the sounds he’s gasping out, choked off sobs that sound like they’re being dragged out of him, they’re almost worse. He’s clutching at the front of Louis’ shirt, and Louis grabs his hand, squeezes their fingers together like maybe it’ll be of some scant comfort.

“Hurts,” Harry gasps out, eyes focusing momentarily on Louis before glazing over again.

“I know, I know,” Louis replies, trying to wipe some of the tears off Harry’s cheek with his thumb, “We’re gonna get you to the hospital, alright? They’ll take care of you.”

Harry takes in a few shuddery breaths, squeezes his eyes shut.

“Are they gone?” he asks, and it must take him a huge effort, because he exhales heavily with the last word and it slides into a groan, his face screwed up with pain.

“Yeah,” Louis answers. His voice cracks but he doesn’t care. “Yeah, they’re gone.”

Harry takes another breath, steeling himself for another exertion.

“Did they find him?”

Louis loses his fragile grip on self control then, because even in this state, Harry is worrying about Zayn, about someone besides himself, and people have never really understood just how loyal Harry is, they just think he’s young and carefree and does whatever suits him at any given moment. Some part of Louis wishes they could see Harry now, like this. At his worst, maybe, but also at his best.

“No, he’s alright,” he tells Harry, swiping roughly at his own cheeks with his free hand, “He’s okay.” Harry nods, eyes still shut, and his grip on Louis’ hand relaxes a little, like he’s relieved. Then he starts shivering, the shock setting in, and Niall is back at the door.

They have to carry Harry out to the car. There’s no other way.

Louis will forever think it’s a miracle just how long Harry manages to hold out before he screams into Niall’s shoulder.


End file.
